Harry Potter and the Melody of Magic
by tommygun2024
Summary: The Dursleys didn't find it in their hearts to take in a poor orphaned child and threw baby Harry out onto the streets of London where he happened to be picked up by goodhearted traveling musician. Rated M for eventual violence and sexual situations.
1. Chapter 1 - Abandoned Twice

_**Harry Potter and the Melody of Magic**_

**Chapter 1 – Twice Abandoned**

Vernon Dursley looked down at the little bundle lying on his doormat and contemplated in how many ways taking it into his home could utterly destroy his life.

Petunia was examining the child as closely as she could while still avoiding contact with it. It was scrawny, unlike her Dudleykins who at the tender age of one had already achieved a healthy bulk of forty pounds, green eyes, eyes the exact copy of her freak sister, a mop of unruly black hair, which just seeing made her eye twitch, and lightning bolt scar which bled faintly. Upon seeing the scar Petunia jumped up right into Vernon.

_That thing is downright unnatural,_ she thought disgustedly to herself, not entirely sure whether she meant the child or the scar.

The child, which had now woken up, looked around seemingly searching for something. Unable to find what it had been looking for it started crying.

Petunia felt the crying stir Vernon, who had been holding the letter which they had found in the child's hand about ten minutes earlier. She looked at Vernon who seemed to have shaken himself out of the reverie he had fallen into after they had finished reading the letter for the fifth time.

"Petunia, make the thing stop before it wakes the neighbors." Vernon, who had never had a hand with children and didn't really want to touch the child, chided.

Petunia reluctantly took the child, held it at an arm's length and placed a dummy in its mouth, she reminded herself to burn it when the child was finished with it. The dummy in combination with feeling being held seemed to comfort the child.

Vernon walked over to living room with Petunia and the child in tow. Petunia placed the child on the coffee table letting go of it as if it were on fire and ran off to the kitchen to disinfect her hands. Vernon placed himself in his favorite chair and stared at the child with contempt until Petunia came back.

"I am not letting this thing live in my house!" Vernon almost yelled at Petunia while pointing at the child. He said it with such steel in his voice that she knew that he had made his mind up, but Petunia was not a cruel woman at heart and did not like the idea of throwing a child, no matter its origin, onto the street.

"Think of what the neighbors would say if we brought one-of-those-sorts into our home!" Petunia, ever conscious to the opinions of her neighbors, flinched but still did not seem sure.

"It would bring all of that filth that his sort dabbles with into our home!" Vernon grew more enraged as he saw that Petunia still didn't take his side.

"Think of what it could do to Dudley!" That shattered all of Petunia's doubts, she would rise to any threat to protect her baby. Vernon had shouted so loudly that the child was now sobbing quietly, it seemed to feel that it wasn't the time for crying.

"We need to get rid of it," Petunia said, nodding and glaring daggers at the little sobbing bundle of blankets. "But what should we do with it?" she asked her husband.

"I'll write a note with its name and drive it over to London, if I'm fast I can do it before the neighbors wake up and Dudley ever gets into contact with it." Vernon said, still a bit red in the face but noticeably pleased that he had convinced Petunia to see sense.

And so he did, Vernon went and grabbed a pen and paper, wrote "Harry Potter, twice unwanted" in big clear letters and gave it to the little child who grabbed and held on to it as if his life depended on it.

Just as Vernon was exiting the house with the little bundle of blankets roughly under one arm he heard Dudley's cries as he awoke, Vernon thought happily to himself of how much pain he would be saving his son by getting rid of the freaky little thing now held under his arm.

Vernon drove to London as fast as he could, staying within the speed limits of course, as was decent. When he arrived he drove around for about an hour looking for a desolate road or alley where no one would see him leave the thing, it would probably start crying after a while and someone would find it, but even if no one did what did it really matter to Vernon?

He eventually found an alley he deemed suitable. He carefully looked around to make sure no one was in the vicinity, when he was sure it was safe he took the accursed child roughly under his arm and placed it gently on the ground of the alley, he didn't want it crying till he was far away. He gave the child, who was looking around the alley, sucking on his dummy and looking a bit afraid, a final glare and left, leaving Harry Potter to fate's whim.

* * *

_Is that really what I think it is, _wondered Bryson Lively, as he stopped playing and started concentrating on making out the faint sound he thought he had heard. A sound which had clashed so horribly with the music he had been weaving forth from his violin. He had only really been playing to lose himself in the comforting movements and sounds playing his violin brought with it, but that sound had crushed his trance.

Now that he was concentrating he could clearly make it out, it was crying, the purest and most horrible type of crying, a child's frightened crying. He debated whether or not to pursue the source of the cries. One of the many things he had learned as a traveling musician was that if you slept outside then you were regarded as homeless whether you agreed with the sentiment or not. He had also learnt that people didn't enjoy being in the presence of homeless people much less having them in the presence of their children. How did he know that this wasn't just some child angry at being denied some ice-cream?

But he knew it wasn't. Another thing he had learnt in his years working so closely with music was how to differentiate small differences in sound and he could hear that sounds were not angry sounds, these were frightened and sad sounds.

And so he decided. He threw his violin and bow into his case, doing his best not to damage his equipment while still being hasty, and ran off, case in hand, towards the source of the sounds.

He found that the sound was coming from an alley not far away from where he had been playing. Walking into the alley he easily distinguished a bundle of white blankets from the grime. The crying had died down as he approached, but when Bryson had bowed down to examine the little bundle it had started up again, so Bryson did what he always did, the thing he did best. He reached into his pocket, brought out his harmonica and started playing a soothing melody. It worked and this time when he bent down he could get a good look at the child that was now looking up at him with big wide green eyes.

Bryson thought that the kid looked cute, his big mop of untamable black hair and his green eyes made him look a bit mischievous, but there was one thing which particularly grabbed Bryson's attention, the lightning bolt scar on its forehead. _Bloody hell, that's a freaking awesome scar, _he thought.

In the child's hand was a letter but when Bryson attempted to take it, the child fought him and looked like he was about to cry again.

_Poor little thing, _he thought while sitting himself down on the ground, a little dirt didn't really matter to him since he was always in a constant state of grubbiness anyway. He put the child in his lap and once again played on his harmonica.

After about a minute of playing the child had settled down and relinquished the letter. When Bryson read the letter and was thoroughly disgusted by the contents, in large large clear letters, written as if the writer thought that only an idiot would be reading it, it said:

**HARRY POTTER, TWICE UNWANTED**

The child seemed restless so Bryson gave him his harmonica and watched idly as the child bit and manhandled Bryson's beloved harmonica. As he watched he thought about what to do.

_Should I take the child in as my own?_ _Is that even legal?_ Not that the legality of his actions had bothered him before, according to him the law existed to protect and if it stopped him from doing the right thing then the law could go to hell for all he cared.

_Maybe I should give it to an orphanage?_ But that didn't feel right, here lay a sweet innocent little thing probably not more than one year old, already abandoned twice and he was considering abandoning it once again. Nope it didn't feel right.

_I would have to get a stable job, I have enough money left from my inheritance to get us by until then._ But it wasn't that easy, Bryson loved his current occupation, he loved the traveling, leaving whenever it fit him and the feeling of freedom he felt when he had no obligations to anyone but himself. But most of all he loved dedicating his entire being and gambling his life on the thing he loved most in the world, music.

He was brought out of his contemplation by a shrieking note which pierced the silence of the alley. Young Harry Potter had apparently figured out how to make the instrument produce the sounds which had so entranced him a few moments earlier and was now giggling merrily while waving the harmonica in Bryson's face, obviously pleased with himself. It was that which decided it for Bryson. He took a hold of the smiling child, stood up and announced "Well Harry Potter, it seems you'll be coming with me."


	2. Chapter 2 - A Reunion

**Chapter 2 - A Reunion**

"Dad, wake up!" Harry Potter said to the seemingly young man who was snoring loudly enough to have drowned out his own alarm clock.

"You have a meeting with Maria in ten minutes!" Harry said, after failing to shake his father into consciousness, sounding and feeling a bit peeved. He had been through this process enough times to know that there was only one way to get his father out of bed when he was in such a state.

So Harry went into his own room and browsed his CD collection, it was mostly filled with collections of works by Mozart, Beethoven and the like, however it had a secret. Inside a collection of Johannes Brahms work was the bane of his father's existence, a CD by _Boyz II Men_.

Before Harry could play the CD however, he heard a knocking on the door. Harry rushed to it only to find Maria there. "Oh Maria, please come in." Harry greeted, motioning inside.

"Good morning Harry," Maria greeted, giving Harry a hug, then entering the apartment. "Where is your Father?" she asked, fearing she already knew the answer.

Harry looked chagrined. "Sleeping I'm afraid, but I was just about to wake him up. Would you like some tea while you wait?" Harry said, his chagrined look turning into a mischievous smile which Maria reciprocated.

"Gladly" She said, taking Harry's cue and walking towards the kitchen, where a pot of hot water still stood, leftover from Harry's breakfast. She sat down and Harry poured her some tea before starting the show.

When Harry played the CD there was almost an immediate effect. The wall shaking snoring stopped and they heard a curse, Bryson had probably stepped on something small or stubbed a toe as his room was the only room in the apartment, despite Harry's attempts to clean it, that was in a constant state of disarray.

"Harry, turn off that pitiful excuse for music!" they heard him yell, Maria and Harry simply grinned at each other. Eventually the music turned off and Bryson, in only a t-shirt and his boxers, walked into the kitchen. He looked a bit grumpy when he spotted Maria and Harry sitting by the dinner table looking at him with huge grins.

Bryson generally worked off of his own schedule. One day he would, for no particular reason, decide that he wanted to stay up late and watch movies and another day he would get by on just naps, that was his schedule and he didn't like it when people interfered with it.

"Hey Zapper, is there any breakfast left?" he asked Harry.

"Yeah, there is some bacon and fried eggs in the fridge and some hot water left in the pot." Harry answered stilling smiling.

Bryson grunted, his generally cheerful personality typically disappeared when people messed with his schedule. "And what are you doing here?" he asked, this time directing his question to Maria, who was just about finished her tea and spurting a smile identical to Harry's.

"We were supposed to work on the new album today, remember?" Maria answered, imperiously lifting one eyebrow. Maria was Bryson's childhood friend from Los Angeles. She had been working in London for six years as a high school music teacher before Bryson, who she hadn't seen in four years, came to her asking for a job.

When she learnt that he had legally adopted an abandoned child and was looking for a more stable job than a traveling musician, her first thought was that he must have had gone insane. Not only was Bryson, Bryson for goodness sake, giving up his beloved freedom but also becoming a father! What did he know about children?! He was only twenty-five! What did he even know about responsibility?! It was his accursed nobility kicking in again, it had landed him in trouble often enough before.

She and Bryson had always been close, they had even dated for a while though it didn't work out. After Bryson's parents died and he had disappeared on his travels, Maria was the only one he kept contact with. So she helped him get a job as a private music teacher for one of her more ambitious students.

For a while Bryson and Harry got by on that and Bryson's inheritance, but after about two months after Bryson had come knocking on Maria's door, Bryson found a job at a local grocery store which meant that he and Harry could stop leaning back on Bryson's inheritance money. A year went by and Bryson had become such a talked about music teacher that he was even able to quit his grocery store job.

On the 30th of June 1983, when Maria came over to babysit Harry, as she had taken to doing about once each other week, she found a candlelight-dinner for three prepared. That night Bryson asked of her two requests, the first was to start a band with him and the second was to become Harry's godmother, she agreed to both.

They decided to name their band _Emerald Eyes_ after the one who had brought them together again. Maria was lead vocals and played the keyboard/piano while Bryson played the violin. They started out doing rather small time gigs at bars and such but after three years they had grown to be quite the locally famous indie band and even released their first CD, _Lightning Bolts and Lover's Kisses_. Surprisingly it gained quite the traction and even managed to get onto the nation's best seller list for two months. That managed to get them quite the cult following, at least within the UK.

They released their next album on the day which Bryson had found Harry and he had since chosen as Harry's birthday, the first of November. They called it _Abandoned Twice_, it was well received and became famous for its hauntingly beautiful sound.

Bryson seemed to look into nothing, obviously trying to remember, he didn't but still answered "Oh right, that thing."

Maria saw through his act immediately, rolled her eyes and said "Well then you must remember that we had planned to be at the studio in..." she checked her wristwatch "two minutes."

Bryson looked at her and grinned "Well I'm glad you know me well enough to know that I wouldn't get up in time for that, the very least on a Saturday." He had apparently regained some of his normally cheerful personality after drinking some tea.

Maria rolled her eyes again, a gesture she often made in the presence of Bryson. "Its 11am, I knew that Harry would have gotten you up eventually but I didn't feel like waiting." She said curtly now smiling fondly at her godson who was immersed in polishing Bryson's old harmonica which had never really been given to Harry, but was understood to be his.

"Yeah, yeah, thank the lord for the almighty Birds Nest, savior of tired musicians." Bryson grinned, enjoying a plate of eggs and bacon. Harry looked up from his avid polishing and mock glared at his father. Bryson had a funny habit of calling Harry by all manner of nicknames, some which might even have been offensive or mean if he didn't say them with such love.

They sat there speaking idly about small things, but eventually Maria and Bryson had to go, Harry hugged them both goodbye, put on a collection of Mozart works and sat himself down on his bed, thinking about what to do.

_What to do now? _Harry thought to himself, enjoying a particularly good part of Rondo Alla Turca. He supposed that he could call up Martin or Violet, but he didn't feel like it.

Harry focused on the melody, on the feel of the music. Oddly enough it helped him think. The easy concentration that he fell into cleared his mind, freeing him of excess thoughts. This happened when he played music as well, unless the piece he was playing was excessively complicated, but there was a problem, in this state Harry had a hard time measuring the passage of time, he could sit there idly playing for hours and thinking about hundreds of things while thinking he had only been playing for slightly more than twenty minutes. However focusing on someone else's music didn't send him into as deep of a trance which meant he had a more accurate grasp of time.

After what felt to him as two minutes but was actually closer to ten minutes of thinking, he decided to go to park and play his harmonica.

While on his way to park Harry silently examined people he walked by. It was interesting how you could often tell what sort of life a person was living by looking at their behavior and appearance.

Harry watched as a man in a suit sprinted towards a bus he apparently didn't feel like missing, he watched as a mother walked down the sidewalk with her daughter in one hand and her son in the other and then Harry saw something which made him stop in his tracks.

On the other side of the road stood the largest man Harry had ever seen, he was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide, clad in an overcoat, Harry goggled. _How does he stand it? _Harry silently wondered, he himself was feeling rather warm in his Emerald Eyes t-shirt.

The man was standing by the biggest motorbike Harry had ever seen. _Probably the only one in world that could carry him_, Harry thought to himself. The giantesque man was examining a map, ever so often scratching his head and for the most part looking really lost, but before Harry could make his way over to help the man, the person in question looked around conspiratorially as if trying make sure no one was watching him and Harry instinctively leaned against a nearby wall and started whistling. It was a horrible act and would have seemed awfully suspicious to most people, but the man simply glossed past him.

When Harry looked back at the man, he had somehow produced a pink umbrella and was now poking the map with it. After finishing his prodding of the map he started to examine it. Apparently startled by what map showed him, he jumped and started to avidly look around. Harry took pity on obviously lost, possibly mentally deranged man and walked over to him.

"Uhm, excuse me mister, but do you need any help?" Harry asked him. The man, being about three times as tall as Harry, looked down at him. The man's gaze raked over Harry, finally locking on his scar, the man's eyes bulged and then suddenly filled with tears. "Harry, is tha' yeh?" he asked disbelievingly, touching Harry's scar with a tenderness that belied the man's size. He then gathered Harry up into a tremendous bear-hug, Harry stiffened and fought it at first but then relaxed, this was obviously very important to the man and he didn't grudge him a hug, seeing as how he would have to shatter this misunderstanding in a minute.

After a minute he let Harry go, taking out a handkerchief and noisily blowing his nose. Almost all of Harry's upper body hurt from the force of the hug, but he managed to get out something that at least to his own ears sounded like words, "I am sorry sir, but I think you have mistaken me for someone else."

The man smiled as he put away his handkerchief. "Harry, the las' time I saw yeh, yeh weren't bigger 'n me hand, but no ma'er how much you change, there's on'y one person in the world with a scar like tha'." He said placing his finger on Harry's scar again.

Harry backed away and looked at the man like he had turned into some sort of a dangerous animal. "You knew me when I was a baby?"

"Harry, ple..." Hagrid tried to intercept, but Harry kept on, not really wanting an answer.

"You've come to take me haven't you? Well I won't let you!" Harry yelled. "You abandoned me!"

That seemed to strike a nerve with Hagrid and he visibly flinched.

A funny thing sometimes happens when something dramatic goes on in a public place. People start visibly ignoring the thing, throwing some surreptitious looks while hastening on with their day. This happened now.

Before Hagrid had time to do anything else, Harry turned around and sprinted away.

As Harry ran away from the man who sought to take him away from everyone he loved, he felt tears trickle down his cheeks. Consumed so by fear and trauma long thought forgotten, he didn't even feel embarrassed at the tears which fell regardless the environment which he was in.

Eventually Harry found himself back home. He considered calling his father but Harry didn't want to call him away from his work. Bryson would come no doubt, but Harry knew how much his father reveled in his independence and calling him home after Harry had seemingly had a panic attack would take away some of Bryson's newly refound freedom and Harry didn't want to do that. So instead he called his closest friend in the world, Violet.

"Hey Violet." Harry said through the phone, his voice slightly tremoring a little.

"Hello, Harry. What's wrong?" Violet asked, immediately catching the sign of unrest in her normally calm best friend's voice.

"I really need to talk, can you please come over here? I'm at home."

Violet nodded to herself, knowing how Harry hated being a burden. "Absolutely."

She arrived fifteen minutes later, Harry had left the door open and she found him sitting in his room listening to some horrid metal band. She turned the music off and hugged Harry, he hugged back.

They had been friends for as long as any of them could remember, in fact Harry's first memory was of Violet attempting to play on his harmonica with horrifying results. They shared with each other their deepest thoughts, Violet even knew the whole truth about Harry's background, a secret he guarded well. Many had remarked on their closeness and mistaken them for siblings, which they were in everything except blood, they were probably even closer than siblings.

"I met someone today," Harry said when Violet had sat herself down on Harry's bed. "Someone who knew me before father."

Violet nodded in understanding, the last time Harry had been this upset had been almost a year ago when his father and godmother had revealed the title of their second CD and the meaning behind it.

"Please tell me the whole story."

Just as Harry was going to do just that, a knock was heard on the door and Harry stiffened, his eyes moistening slightly "It's him, he has come to take me away."

Violet got up from her seat on Harry's bed and moved towards the door. She knew Harry could be a bit unreasonable when it came to his past. When she opened the the door she was met by the same giantesque man Harry had previously met.

"Hello young miss, me name is Rubeus Hagrid, I was a friend of Harry's parents."

Violets eyes narrowed in suspicion, could there actually be some truth to Harry's belief?

Hagrid, who was kneeling down so that he wasn't towering over her as much, saw the suspicion and quickly added "I haven' come ter take 'im away, I simply have summat very important ter tell 'im."

And so found Harry, Violet and Rubeus Hagrid all in the living room, Hagrid sitting on the floor in fear of breaking anything and awkwardly waiting for Harry's father and godmother to come home.


End file.
